


Family Legacies

by Tori_Scribbles



Series: Threefold [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Secrets, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, Mentioned Claudia Stilinski - Freeform, Mentioned Talia Hale - Freeform, Photographs, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Spark Claudia Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles and Derek Knew Eachother As Children, Talia Hale & Claudia Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori_Scribbles/pseuds/Tori_Scribbles
Summary: Prompt: Three times Stiles learns something about his mother - and inadvertently himself.
Relationships: Claudia Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Cora Hale & Derek Hale, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski
Series: Threefold [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440325
Kudos: 73





	1. knowing the hale's

**Author's Note:**

> This has the potential to be a lil prequel before a bigger magic!stiles fic but I make no promises. Also, this was written when I wrote the rest of this series, I have no idea why it didn't get posted with the rest, sorry about that.
> 
> As always, this is rach and dreams' fault.

Stiles batted a cobweb away from his face with a huff. 

The attic was dark and cluttered. It was only ever used as storage so it was rare anybody ventured up there and when they did, the furthest they ever went was to the boxes of Christmas decorations by the hatch. So when his father couldn’t find a particular photo album it was either down to his dad to climb up through the attic, digging around in boxes full of God knows what and probably asbestos or for Stiles to look himself.

He didn’t even know why his dad would’ve put the photo albums in the attic, after all, all of the photo albums were on a shelf in the living room where his mom had collected them together. But his aunt was sick. She was struggling to remember her own sister and so they were going to send out any pictures of her and his mom when they were young that they had and his dad was adamant those pictures were in the attic.

Stiles pulled open the top of the box nearest to him and almost instantly dropped the lid back down when he saw the logo for his mom’s old health insurance company. He definitely didn’t need to find out how much debt they’d been in back then. The next box was files with the Sheriff’s department logo stamped on top and several others were filled with clothes of his moms that his dad never donated.

A large, old, dark wooded chest stood against the bricks of the chimney. Stiles had no recollection of ever seeing it before but judging by the thick layer of dust that rested on top, it had been in the house for a while.

Stiles stepped closer to it, letting his fingers trail across the edge, allowing the old wood to show through. Something about the chest felt familiar but he couldn’t place it in his mind. He sunk down to his knees before lifting the surprisingly heavy lid. The dust curled up through the air and Stiles covered his face with the sleeve of his hoodie to stop himself inhaling year of it that rose up with one hand and batted away the particles with the other, half watching as they spiralled around the chimney in the beams of light.

When the air cleared he looked down inside the chest, a pulse of triumph shot through him as his eyes came to rest on a stack of photo albums.

He picked up the first one, letting it rest in his lap, his fingers ghosting over the thick leather cover. It was different from the more generic books that were downstairs which was strange, his mom had always had organising sets of things that contrasted his dad’s more disarrayed personality.

He opened the cover and his breath caught at a picture of his mother. She looked young - around the age that Stiles was now - her head was peeking out from behind a tree in what looked like the preserve, her face alight with joy as she smiled at the camera. 

He turned the page and smiled softly at another picture of his mother, it looked like it was the same day, though this time she was walking through a meadow of flowers, her back to the camera, her hair cascading down her back in loose curls. 

The next she was lying in the flowers, grinning up at the camera.

She looked so happy.

Stiles could remember her smile with ease but there was something about her in these that seemed so carefree.

He turned the page again and faltered.

In the same place that his mother had lain in the previous photo, a large black wolf rested in the flowers, its head cocked to the side and eyes glowing golden.

The wolf looked remarkably like two others that Stiles had seen before.

The picture on the next page was the same wolf, standing in the meadow but with a purple scarf draped across its neck, like it had shifted still wearing the scarf. 

Like  _ she  _ had shifted.

The inscription underneath was in his mom's neat, cursive hand.

_ Talia wearing something for a change - 1984 _

Stiles brushed his finger over the name. 

He had no doubts the wolf wasn't a natural wolf. But for some reason, Talia Hale was the last person he'd expected it to be.

On the next page, his mom was lying in the flowers again, though this time another girl lay next to her. 

Stiles had never seen a photo of the woman, but he recognised her instantly.

He couldn’t help the way his mind flashed back to Laura Hale, her body mutilated but face recognisable. A young Talia looked remarkably like her daughter had. They had had the same warm brown hair, the same curved jaw and the same dark eyes. 

Stiles had never seen a picture of Derek's father, but he assumed Derek and Cora had inherited his lighter eyes and darker, straighter hair from him.

If these pictures were in 1984, his mother would have been eighteen and Talia looked to be a similar age. They looked close. Close enough that his mom knew her friend was a werewolf.

His mom knew about werewolves.

_ "Your mom always said the Hale's were a special family."  _ His dad's voice echoed in his ears.

She’d known.

_ “Mom would’ve believed me!”  _ The cheap shot he’d thrown at his dad all those years ago twisted painfully inside of him now. She really would’ve believed him.

Stiles flicked through the rest of the album and he could finally put a name and a face to Mr Hale. There was a photo of his and Talia's wedding, they were in the woods again, presumably at the Preserve, hand in hand, eyes only for each other. Underneath was another caption.

_ Talia and Michael Hale. 12th September, 1985. _

A part of Stiles was surprised she'd married young, but another part of him supposed it was a werewolf thing as he considered what he knew about werewolf relationships and mates.

There were a few more pictures of the wedding, even a picture of Stiles' parents sitting together on a fallen tree. His dad’s jacket was draped around his mom's shoulders.

The last picture in the album was of Talia in her wolf form again, this time she stood on the porch of the Hale house - it’s dark bricks and wooden porch swing made a nice change from the shell it was when Stiles knew it - unlike the last picture of Talia where her eyes shone a bright gold, they were now a dangerous shade of crimson. The caption underneath was simple.

_ Alpha Hale. 1986. _

Underneath was a small, carefully drawn triskelion.

Stiles carefully set the open album on the floor and reached for the next one. 

He’d always known his mother had liked to take photos. It was something her parents had never done, so she’d made up for it by taking pictures of everything. Stiles recalled how much she’d relied on photo albums to put names to faces in her later days and Stiles chest hurt as he thought of his aunt doing the same thing now.

The first picture in the second album was of his mother’s smiling face. Her hair was longer than it had been before and her clothes said less rebellious teenager and more practical adult. She was sitting in an unfamiliar living room, holding a tiny baby close to her chest. 

_ Laura Isobel Hale. 1st March, 1987. _

Laura.

She was so tiny. Innocent. Before she understood the world of hunters and werewolves. This baby was so far away from the young woman who was torn to pieces in the woods by her own uncle.

There were several pictures of newborn Laura being passed from adult to adult as they gushed over the newest family member. There was even a picture of Talia holding her while an unfamiliar teenaged girl and a just as young Peter smiled down at her.

Stiles recognised the girl from the pictures of the Hale Fire case. She didn't look like any of the Hale's, but ultimately, she had suffered the same fate.

_ Talia introducing Laura to Peter and his girlfriend Marie. _

Marie Hale.

The bright eyed girl in the photo would grow up to be Peter's wife. The mother of their unborn child.

There were more photos at the Hale house as baby Laura grew into more of a toddler there was a photo of her dated 1988 being held by a very pregnant Talia.

And in the very next photo Talia sat in an armchair, Michael perched on the arm of the chair with Laura on his knee, all of them looking down at the baby in Talia's arms with varying degrees of wonder.

_ Derek Sebastian Hale. 25th December 1988. _

It was strange to think of this baby growing up to be the hardened Derek he knew now. It was even stranger to think that his mother was there the day he was born.

He took time to go through the rest of the albums. Pictures of Derek and Laura playing and when Derek was five there was another baby. 

At first, he'd thought it was Cora, but it wasn't the Hale’s living room this time, it was his theirs. In the picture of Derek holding the baby, Talia was hovering over his shoulder cautiously, her hands resting on her prominent bump and the baby was wrapped in familiar blue blankets. 

"Oh,” the sound fell past his lips so softly but it resonated the surprise he felt.

It was him.

Derek and Talia were looking down at him the day after he was born.

The rest of the albums showed more pictures of the Hale kids playing, joined later by Cora and then another girl who Stiles knew was Derek's youngest sister. Georgina. 

The sister that hadn't survived the fire.

It was strange to see a picture of a five year old him being swung around by Laura when he had no memories of the girl. 

The only time he could remember meeting any of the Hale's was in his mother's final weeks in the hospital. He and his father had gone to the hospital one evening with dinner and as they'd got there Laura, Derek and a strained looking Talia were just leaving. He remembered running to greet his mom as his father had spoken to Talia in the doorway. Before they'd left Talia had smiled warmly and said goodbye. His mom had frowned and asked why nobody had bothered to introduce them to their guests. Talia looked pained but her smile stayed in place as they left. 

Something tugged at the back of his mind as he thought of that day. He'd been so focused on his mom that the Hale's had barely been on his radar. He'd known who they were as a child but he had no memories of playing at the Hale house like these pictures said he had. He remembered his dad getting pretty drunk after the fire but that was about it. Stiles was sad about it, but he hadn’t really known them.

There are photos of him and Cora at school together but he never even knew her name until the Alpha Pack bought her back.

Had he really been too young to remember them? 

Was his mother the only connection they really had to that family?

Had that connection died with her?

Stiles scooped the rest of the albums out of the chest, jostling some other books and jars of suspicious looking items before he headed back downstairs. Thankfully his dad was still at work so he dropped the albums straight onto the passenger seat of the jeep and climbed into the driver's side. 

The route to Derek's loft was one he could drive with his eyes closed. Over the years going to Derek's had been just as natural as going to Scott's or going home and being away at college hadn't changed that.

A part of him thought he should have given Derek a heads up that he was coming with stacks of photos of his dead family but another part of his brain argued that Derek would find it weirder if Stiles called ahead.

So when he pulled up outside the loft and juggled the stack of albums around the doors - he really wished he'd bought a bag right about now - he headed straight for the elevator that was for once, actually working.

As it came to a grinding stop and the doors open Stiles climbed the last few steps to the loft door.

"Hey, Derek! I've kinda got my hands full. Open the door please," he said, not bothering to raise his voice as he kicked the bottom of the door in lieu of knocking. Before he could kick at the door again, it was pulled open and he was met with Derek’s judging eyebrow - which Stiles now knew he’d inherited from his mother.

“You know the pack meeting isn’t until tomorrow, right?” Derek asked, stepping aside anyway so Stiles could enter. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not here for that,” he said, “is Cora here?”

“No, she’s with Lydia. She said something about a new bakery in town.” Derek gave a slight shrug while frowning at Stiles who dropped the stack of albums on the coffee table. “What are all those?”

Stiles let his fingers rest on the cover of the top album. “I was going through boxes of stuff in the attic and I er- I found some photo albums of my moms.” Derek’s expression softened and Stiles went on. “Mom used to take loads of photos so I wasn’t that surprised at first but… I think these are more important to you than to me.” 

“What do you mean?” Derek asked and Stiles flicked the first album open to the picture of their mothers laying in the flowers and passed it over to Derek.

Stiles heard his sharp intake of breath and watched carefully as Derek stepped around to sink down onto the couch next to him.  


“The albums are full of pictures of my mom with your family,” Stiles said softly as he took a seat next to Derek. “From when our moms were teenagers, your parent's wedding, you and your sisters as kids, even Peter and his wife…” 

“I-” Derek swallowed thickly. “We don’t have any pictures. They were all burnt.” 

“You can have these,” Stiles said, “you, Cora and Peter. Most of these will mean more to you than us.” 

Derek was staring down at a group photo of his family. Him, his parents, three sisters, Peter, Marie and an elderly couple than Stiles assumed was Derek’s grandparents all smiled brightly at the camera. Derek traced his finger over the faces of his family softly, his eyes glassy. Stiles thought about the picture of him and his own parents on his desk where he could see his mom’s face every day, he didn’t want to think about what it would be like to not have those photos.

“There- there are pictures in there of me and my mom, even my dad with your family,” Stiles started carefully, “but I don’t remember any of it. I only remember meeting your mom and you once in the hospital.” 

Derek looked up from the album with a deep frown. “Your mum usually came over when you were at school but she bought you sometimes,” he said, “you were young. Your mom stopped coming when she started to get sick, my mom started going to her. But you knew Cora.” 

Stiles nodded, he supposed it made sense. The grief counsellor he’d seen as a kid said missing memories weren’t uncommon with losing someone so young and he’d known he’d been blocking out memories for years. Ever since the Dread Doctors uncovered the memory of him and his mom on the hospital roof, he’d been questioning what else he’d forgotten. It made him think of what his mom used to say.  _ “That’s the thing about forgetting things. No matter how hard you try to remember, you forget what you’ve forgotten.”  _

“I never knew that my mom knew your family,” he said, “that she  _ knew.”  _

Derek’s lips twitched and his eyes were far away. “She used to bring us pastries the day after the full moon. She’d bake them… I can’t remember what they were called. They had fruit in them…” 

“Kolaczki,” Stiles said with a slight smile. When his mom would bake them the house would smell sweet for days. “It was the only way I’d eat fruit for months.” 

“She was kind,” Derek said softly. “She knew what we were, she knew about all of it.” 

“How?” Stiles asked. “My dad didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue.” 

“I don’t know.” Derek shook his head slightly, “our parents all went to high school together. Maybe your mom saw something.” 

Stiles gave a slight laugh and he wondered, not for the first time, what his mom would make of his life entangled with the supernatural.

“We should sort through these,” Stiles said, trying not to dwell on what if’s involving his mom. “There are some people I don’t recognise in some of these. I was thinking of getting one of those ones framed for my dad.” He nodded to the picture of his mom looking out from behind a tree.

They sorted through the pictures for the best part of two hours, Derek knew all of the people Stiles couldn’t place and in a soft voice, Derek told him stories of the people, of his family.

They were so lost in the past that they both startled when the loft door was pulled open and Cora stepped in. She faltered in the doorway, a slight frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked flatly.

“Nothing?” Stiles said with a frown of his own.

“Then why does it smell like someone-” she broke off as her eyes came to rest on the table and her face twitched as she tried to process her emotions. Slowly she stepped closer, her wide eyes watering as she looked down at the pictures.

“Cora…” Derek stood up, reaching out to draw Cora against his chest, guiding her down to sit between him and Stiles.

Cora didn’t say anything. She just reached out with shaking hands and picked up the same picture of her family that Derek kept going back to. She held it carefully in one hand and reached out for a second picture with another, this time one of her, Derek, Laura and Georgia at a picnic.

“I- I forgot what her smile looked like,” she said, her voice cracked and more vulnerable than Stiles had ever heard it as her little finger brushed across Georgia’s face. “When I was in Brazil I would picture everyone every day and then… one day when I was fourteen I just couldn’t picture her smile. I couldn’t remember what teeth she’d lost, if her front teeth had grown back in or…”

“Laura used to say that it didn’t matter that Georgie was human because she had vampire fangs instead of wolf ones,” Derek said with a slight laugh, his eyes fogged over with memories.  


“She was human?” Stiles asked curiously.

“Our father was a bitten wolf, it lowers the chances of children being wolves,” Derek explained. “Two born wolves having children would guarantee their kids being wolves. If one was bitten then it lowers the chances. If both are bitten or one parent is human then it’s a fifty fifty.” 

“Huh,” Stiles said softly, he had - of course - researched werewolf reproduction but it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction.

“These were your mom’s pictures, weren’t they?” Cora asked, glancing at Stiles before looking back to the albums.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“She always had a camera.” Cora smiled slightly. “Half of the pictures we had were taken by your mom.” 

“We’ve got two albums a year at home,” Stiles said, “she was that mom that was taking ten pictures of everything.” 

“Do you remember this?” Cora asked, showing Derek a picture of the two of them and Georgia together. 

Derek laughed slightly. “Yeah, that was right before Laura and Peter threw us in the lake.” 

Stiles suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private family moment. “I should go. Give you guys some time to go through all these.” He pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow for the pack meeting.” 

“Stiles,” Derek called out as Stiles was halfway to the door. Stiles turned back. “Thank you.” 

Stiles had held Derek up in a swimming pool for hours, he’d stopped him dying of wolfsbane poisoning - on more than one occasion - and he’d helped him search for his missing pack. But this was there was something about the look in Derek’s eyes that was different this time.

Stiles smiled, watching as Cora dove for another album. “No problem.” 


	2. a letter from an aunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to tw lore, all magic users are shady, it's the rules

_ Dear Mieczysław, _

_ I know me writing to you will probably come as a surprise. But I fear there are more days to your twenty first birthday than I have left. _

_ Before Claudia died I made her a promise, that if you learnt the truth about the world we live in by your own means, before you come of age, then I would tell you the truth about our family legacy. If you didn’t, then I would say nothing. _

_ I may live several states away now but I, like a lot of people in our world, have heard about Beacon Hills. The Hale’s have always been at the heart of that town, a fact that your mom knew well and I can’t say I’m surprised that you got mixed up in it. You always were your mother’s son. _

_ But it’s time you learnt the truth about our family and how we came to live in Beacon Hills. _

_ I don’t know how much you’ve researched our family. But the Gajos family is an old one. Our ancestors lived in Poland for as long as can be traced. My mother believed that we are the ancestors of what some would call sorcerers. For generations, there has been what we call ‘a spark of potential’ in our blood. I had it, your grandfather had it, your mother had it and so do you. _

_ We have been emissaries, druids and protectors for centuries. _

_ Your grandfather had incredible powers, he could do impossible things by just picturing it happening. Claudia was much the same. _

_ She was set to be the emissary of a powerful werewolf pack back in Poland, but before she could complete her training, hunters came. They wiped out her pack and started to come after people like us so our parents ran. You know we came to America to find better lives and that’s true. We wanted lives where we weren’t hunted. So, your grandparents retired. We came to Beacon Hills to start afresh, our parents introduced themselves to the local pack as a courtesy and we lived peaceful, mundane lives. _

_ Claudia and I were both discouraged from ever practising and for the most part, we respected that, until we were teenagers and rebellious. We did nothing more than party tricks but Claudia’s tricks caught the attention of Talia Hale and they became fast friends, both revelling in having a friend they could truly confide in. I was younger, always being left behind as Claudia ran off into the woods with wolves. _

_ Your grandparents were killed in a car crash just after Claudia graduated High School, nobody could ever prove it but we all suspected that the timing of the Argent’s moving to town wasn’t coincidental.  _

_ At this time Claudia truly gave up her party tricks. She turned down Talia Hale’s offer to be her emissary, she got me through the last two years of school and she married your father. She was in hiding, but she was happy. _

_ And because the magic had stopped so shortly after our parent's deaths, the hunters assumed that their daughters didn’t hold the same spark of potential as they had and they let us be for many years. _

_ Until you were born. _

_ As Claudia used to tell you, you were the light in her storm.  _

_ You were born in the middle of one of the worst storms Beacon Hills had seen in years. Weather reports say that it came out of nowhere, but it should’ve lasted much longer than it did. At the time none of us thought much of it but looking back, the first sign of rain was the same time Claudia went into labour and the storm stopped the same minute you were born. _

_ Anyone who knew what to look for knew that the power in Beacon Hills grew that night. _

_ Your mother told me and Talia that the storm was because of her. That years of unused magic had built up in her system and the stresses of labour had been too much to contain. _

_ So as not to draw attention to you, we didn’t question it. _

_ But the hunters came back to town a few years later and Claudia was worried they wouldn’t accept her lies as everyone else had. _

_ Now what I’m going to tell you is going to be hard to hear. You won’t believe me. You’ll be angry. You’ll be upset. That’s fine. Your mom knew you would be. But you’re not allowed to blame yourself. None of this was your fault, Mieczysław. Your mom made her choices because she loved you and your father and she did what she had to, to ensure your safety. She regretted nothing.  _

_ When the hunters destroyed the nemeton it made the magic connected to it unstable. Everyone felt it, the wolves, us, even the humans to an extent. You were six at the time, I was halfway through doing my Doctorate and Claudia told me to finish my degree before coming home. So by the time I came home, it was too late. _

_ She’d gathered together the ingredients for a strong protection spell. It was a spell that cloaked your spark. It made your potential nearly undetectable, completely undetectable to humans, even hunters. It also disconnected you in a way to the supernatural and what you knew of it but finding your way back to this world started to weaken your mother’s spell. _

_ However, that spell required a lot of power and Claudia had that power. _

_ But her powers had been dormant for years, building up inside of her for years. Even before she did the spell, she’d started to notice physical symptoms. After all, the human body isn’t supposed to contain that amount of power. The migraines she got were an early warning sign, one that she ignored. _

_ When Claudia cast the protection spell, all that power she had built up over the years almost exploded. The spell was a success. You were safe. But the part of her mind that the magic had been straining at for years broke. _

_ She got very ill very quickly and, well, you know the rest. _

_ Your mother loved magic. _

_ But she loved you more. _

_ She loved both you and your father enough to protect you from all of this. _

_ The closest thing to godparents that you had were me and Talia.  _

_ Hunters took Talia away and fear took me from you.  _

_ I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were thrown into this world. I’m sorry I couldn’t explain what was happening to you but I’ve been suppressing my magic, smothering the spark so to speak, for many years now and it’s caught up to me just as it did Claudia. _

_ You’re going to be turning twenty one soon.  _

_ I wish I could tell you that you can ignore it, go on living life as just an average human but when you were possessed by a Nogitsune, your spark grew too bright to be put out. I should have reached out to you then.  _

_ The Nogitsune felt your potential and was drawn to you, it broke your mother’s spell. The spark of power you have inside of you burns brighter now than ever before. _

_ At first, you probably didn’t even notice, maybe you still haven’t.  _

_ But your thoughts are powerful.  _

_ If you will for something strong enough, you can make it happen.  _

_ You can’t suppress this now, Mieczysław. It’s too strong and trying to push it away could break your mind. _

_ You're drawn to this world and this world is drawn to you. But you play by different rules. Mountain ash won't contain you, wolfsbane will not poison you. _

_ Follow your heart, Mieczysław. Trust your mind. Trust your instincts. Seek the guidance of others but don’t let them decide for you. Don’t let your fear decide your path for you. _

_ I will be here for you for as long as I am able. _

_ Do better than we did.  _

_ And remember: it’s all about belief. _

_ Love, Auntie Hanna _

Stiles stared down at the letter, his hands shaking and heart pounding. 

He knew his aunt’s illness made her delusional, after all, it was the same illness that had taken his mother. But this didn’t sound like the ramblings of a sick woman.

It didn’t even sound like that much of a reach.

She knew about the Nogitsune. She knew about the Hale’s.

He hadn’t seen Aunt Hanna since his mother’s funeral. She’d never married but moved up to Washington State, barely keeping in contact, just sending toys, then money for birthday's and Christmas;.  


_ If you will for something strong enough, you can make it happen. _

Stiles mind flashed back to the swimming pool, all those years ago, forcing himself to keep both himself and Derek above water for hours. The baseball bat shattering against the twins - two alpha werewolves - even though there was no way Stiles should've been able to swing it that hard. Cora coming back to life despite Stiles’ terrible CPR. Pulling the circular saw out of a desperate Ethan's hands at the motel. Getting cell service in an underground Mexican temple when nobody else had. The mountain ash.

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick.

_ You're drawn to this world and this world is drawn to you. _

When Scott first started acting strangely Stiles had barely thought about how ridiculous was before jumping to the conclusion of 'werewolves'. It had been Stiles' house that Derek had sought shelter in when he was on the run. It had been Stiles that Peter fixated on. Cora trusting him almost instantly. Stiles that Lydia called when she found the dead bodies. Erica had reached out to Stiles, seeking common interests despite the battle lines being drawn. Malia's world view was shifting and when she could have run, she instead went back for Stiles. 

_ It also disconnected you in a way to the supernatural and what you knew about it but finding your way back to this world started to weaken your mother’s spell. _

Stiles thought of the photo’s of him with the Hales, days spent with werewolves that he had no memories of until Scott got bitten and he met Derek in the woods. He’d known who Derek was. He’d known about his family. When Scott had asked how he’d known Derek Stiles had shrugged and replied, “I must’ve seen his picture somewhere.” But had he? Or had a part of his mind been trying to remember?

How much of the memory loss had been just because of trauma?

There was no way any delusions Aunt Hanna was having could connect to reality on this level. The more he thought about it, the more it all seemed to slot into place.

Stiles’ stomach lurched and he bolted out of the room, stumbling down the hallway, barely making it to the toilet in time as his lunch resurfaced.

His mom got sick because she was protecting him. 

On her worst day on the hospital roof, she had been convinced that he was killing her. That he was doing something to her that was killing her.

When the wild hunt erased Stiles from existence, his mom had still been alive and when he came back, she was dead again.

Without Stiles, she would still be alive.

His body heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach to come back up. He flushed the toilet and sank back against the wall, letting his head rest heavily against his knees as grief hit him hard. Guilt and pain mixed together and as he pictured his mom’s smiling face it made his chest physically hurt.

He had turned twenty one a week ago. He couldn’t help but think it was fitting for twenty one to be a poignant number for… magical people. Both three and seven were both powerful numbers in many cultures.

He tried to think about his birthday, wracking his brain to try and remember if anything significant had happened. It had been a bright day. The pack were together again for the first time in a while as spring break had - for once - landed on his birthday. They’d celebrated, he’d bought alcohol - just because he could - and Lydia had thrown a party in a way that only Lydia could.

Stiles had gotten pretty drunk that night, but the memories were crystal clear in his mind and the next morning when he woke, there was no sign of the hangover he’d expected.

At the time he hadn’t thought anything of it. Not wanting to shoot a gifted horse so to speak. When he’d left the loft a few hours later, Roscoe had even started on the first attempt. He’d just thought he was having a good day but now… now he was questioning everything.

How had Roscoe lasted this long? Running on duct tape and Stiles’s sheer determination...

Why when he was taken by the ghost riders was he the only one awake in the station? How had he made Peter snap out of it? 

Why were none of the hunches he had about people wrong? Matt, Jackson, Merideth, Theo. He’d made a sarcastic comment about them and months later that sarcastic comment had been true.

What did Deaton’s cryptic comments and Ms Morell’s special interest in him really mean?

None of it made sense and everything made sense all at the same time.

With shaking hands he managed to pull his phone out of his pocket and after a quick google search, he dialled his Aunt’s hospital.

_ “Dementia Ward, how can I help?”  _ a chipper female voice answered the phone.

“Can I speak to Hanna Gajos please? I’m her nephew, Stiles Stilinski,” he said, hating how strained his voice sounded.

_ “I’m sorry, sir. Ms Gajos hasn’t been lucid for several days now, she’s wouldn’t be able to talk to you over the phone,”  _ she said and Stiles let his head drop back against the wall.

“Could you leave her a note for if-when she’s lucid again to have her call me please? I got a letter from her and I wanted to talk to her about it,” he said but something inside him told him it was no use.

_ “I’ll make sure a note is left for her. But, sir. The periods of time she’s lucid for are getting less and less. I wouldn’t get too hopeful about her remembering a letter if I were you.”  _

Stiles let out a heavy breath. “Yeah, thanks.” 

He ended the call and considered his options. 

He could talk to his dad. Who had less of a clue than he did and would struggle to believe any story about his wife being magic.

Morell hadn’t been seen in months, no longer working at Eichen nor the High School, she’d clearly found somewhere else to be cryptic about a balance with.

That left Deaton. He was the last person that Stiles wanted to go to for answers, mainly because he had a habit of leaving the clinic with more questions than answers. But he was the only person in town who was likely to know anything.

Stiles pushed himself off the floor, brushed the taste of stomach acid from his teeth before grabbing the letter and heading out and if his jeep started on the first attempt, he tried not to think about it too much.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was grateful that it was Scott’s day off as he pulled up outside the vet clinic. He didn’t know how this conversation was going to go but he was pretty sure he wanted to figure it all out himself before he started advertising it with people who'd have too many opinions.  


He stepped into the clinic, the bell on the door ringing out as he closed it.  


“Ah, Stiles,” Deaton said, looking up from his computer with a frown. “I didn’t expect to see you today. Is everything alright?”

Stiles looked down at the envelope in his hands anxiously. “Yeah, I uh- I was hoping you could clarify some things for me.” 

“I can try,” he said, gesturing for Stiles to come through to the back. “What’s this about?” 

“I got a letter from my Aunt this morning - my mom’s sister - she lives up in Washington State and she’s sick, dementia, same as my mom. The letter said some things… things about the supernatural and me,” Stiles said, not even knowing where to start.

“May I see the letter?” Deaton extended his hand, looking down at the paper in Stiles’ hands. Stiles hesitated for the slightest of moments before passing it over.

Deaton read through the letter several times before setting it down on the examination table between them with a sigh.

“As you know, before the fire, I was the Hale’s emissary,” he started carefully, like this wasn't something he'd hidden from them all, including Derek for many years. “I took up that position shortly after you were born when my predecessor retired but I wasn’t Talia’s first choice. Your mother was. It was actually your mother who put Talia in touch with me. Despite your mother’s hesitation to practice, we all knew how much power she held and when I first met you - when Scott first started working here - I could sense that same power in you. I never said anything at first to respect your mother's wishes but-” 

“But you dropped hints,” Stiles said, “when we tried to trap the kanima at the club with the mountain ash.” He swallowed, trying to push down his annoyance as he remembered the event. “You told me a spark needed to ignite the power of the mountain ash. You  _ told me  _ I needed to be the spark. Force of will.” 

“I hoped you’d figure it out yourself without me having to break my word to both your mother and Talia. The supernatural was drawn to you and you were drawn to it, and the more you were around it, the brighter that spark glowed, the more your mother’s protections started to break down. Tying yourself to the nemeton made it too bright for a moment. It made you vulnerable.” 

“The nogitsune.” It wasn’t a question. Stiles swallowed.  


“It was attracted to power. You said once that it chose you because you were the weakest but I never believed that to be so,” Deaton said. “Even without the spark, your mind is more powerful than many people’s. There’s no denying you’re often the smartest in the room. The nogitsune was attracted to chaos and power as you know. Imagine how much chaos it could have caused had it taken a trained hunter with access to the Argent armoury or if it had taken an Alpha werewolf. But it took you.” 

Stiles faltered. It was been years ago but still the mention of it made his gut twist and his hands shake.

“What are you saying?” he finally asked, looking back up at Deaton whose face was as blank as ever.

“Everything the nogitsune did was calculated, it was attracted to power. We’ll never know for certain why it took you but I don’t think it’s a fact we should ignore,” he said, “you’re the first person to have survived the nogitsune like that. Your body splitting. It’s never been seen before. It takes a lot of power, more than any kitsune has.” 

“It was me? That’s what you’re saying right? You think it was me,” Stiles said, his heart pounding on the verge of an anxiety attack.

“I just think don’t think,” Deaton said, tilting his head to the side as he assessed Stiles with that patient and infuriating gaze, “You were different afterwards and I don’t think it was all just trauma. You found it harder to trust yourself but you were more desperate, it’s a strange combination mixed with your spark.” 

The weeks after the nogitsune were a blur of grief, guilt and nightmares. Two funerals, Isaac, Chirs, Ethan and Danny leaving and then the search for Derek. Stiles couldn’t even distinguish one day to another. Even now he couldn’t tell whose funeral was first, Aiden or Allison’s. Did Kate wait until after Chris was out of the country before she took Derek? Stiles couldn’t remember.

“So if I’m desperate enough. I can just… do anything?” 

Deaton tilted his head consideringly. “Within reason. With practice and training, you wouldn’t have to rely on desperation,” he said. “Start small, mountain ash is one of the first things we learn to control, as you did. Learn to manipulate it outside of a life and death situation and work up from there.” 

“What did my mom used to do?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask curiously.

Deaton frowned. “I never knew her when she was practising. Talia used to tell me she’d play tricks with air and light,” he said. “Most families or packs have some sort of records. Bestiaries, grimoires, the like. Your mother probably would have had several even after she stopped practising.” 

Stiles thought back to the old chest in his dad’s attic, filled with photo albums of the Hale’s and wolves, there had been other books in the chest too, glass jars and smaller wooden boxes. Stiles had been so distracted by the photo albums at the time that he hadn’t investigated the contents further.

“I think I know where to look,” he said.

“Start there then,” Deaton instructed. “But whatever you find, take it slowly. True sparks are hard to manipulate but like all things they can.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles waved his hand. “With great power comes great responsibility, I’m familiar,” he said like this wasn’t about his families great secret legacy of magic, because he was certain if he thought too much on it at once he would have another panic attack.  


Deaton spared him an exasperated look. “I’ll help you where I can Stiles but whatever abilities I possess are nothing compared to your families.” 

Stiles managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile like this wasn’t completely crazy and mildly terrifying. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll keep you posted.” 

He swiped his aunt’s letter off the table and headed out into the downpour as thunder rolled overhead.

-oOo-

Stiles headed straight up to the attic once he arrived back at his dad’s. He flicked the light on and went directly to the chest. 

He knelt in front of it and as he rested his hands on top of the wood. It felt warm to touch and the tips of his fingers tingled on contact as they had with the counter at the clinic.

Mountain Ash.

The entire chest was made out of the wood from a Rowan Tree.

He ran his fingers over the surface, tracing over the symbols that were carved deeply into the old wood. They looked like runes but he had no idea what they meant.

Making a mental note to look them up later, he lifted the lid.

The chest was large and aside from the space where the albums had sat, it was full. Books were lined up at the back with stacks of papers and journals next to them, in the bottom corner were several glass jars filled with different powders and what looked like dried herbs.

Stiles reached out for the odd item, a small dark wooded box that rested in the palm of his hand. It gave him the same feeling that the mountain ash had. He carefully took the lid off.

It was a jewellery box. Inside on a small cushion lay a dark leather bracelet, different strands woven together to support a silver triskele charm in the middle. The leather was disintergrating and the silver was chipped like it had been well worn and Stiles saw it for what it was. A pack token. His mother’s token of the Hale Pack.

He wondered when she’d stopped wearing it. When she married his father? When he was born? When she gave up magic?

He tried to remember seeing it any photos but bracelets were never what he’d been focussing on.

A part of Stiles’ mind found it ironic how a token of a werewolf pack was made of silver but another part of him found looking at this one sad. It was once a known symbol in Beacon Hills, now there were so few.

Derek and Cora both had their tattoos and Peter had given Malia a silver necklace with a triskele on, called it a family heirloom but that was about it. It was slowly appearing more and more again but rebuilding a pack, rebuilding a legacy took time.

It was strange to think his mother had worn the same symbol. Been a part of the same cause.  


He put the lid back on the box and set it down next to the letter before reaching back inside the chest to the jars. Most of them were labelled: aconite, Columbian monkshood, Californian poppy seeds, sage, feverfew...

Stiles had researched herbs and plants before, aside from the two types of wolfsbane the others he thought all had medicinal uses.

The final jar was larger than the rest and unlabeled but Stiles didn’t need one to know what type of ash it was.

Next he pulled out the first book, it was small and leather bound, like a notebook. He opened it carefully on the first page and was surprised to find a list of names and dates all written in old ink. Most of the first names were unfamiliar to him but they all shared the same last name. Gajos. And if he had to guess then the dates next to the names were dates of birth. He flicked through to the last written on page near the back and made a small noise of surprise. 

_ Mieczysław Gajos 12-06-1932 _ _   
_ _ Claudia Gajos 23-11-1972 _ _   
_ _ Hanna Gajos 06-02-1975 _

And underneath Hanna’s name, in his mother’s neat cursive writing was his own name and date of birth.

The rest of the pages were blank, waiting for the family line to continue. This record went all the way back to the mid 1800’s, all members of his family who no doubt had this spark.

The second book he pulled out seemed just as old but larger and heavier, and as he lifted it out a piece of much newer paper fell out. Stiles set the book down and reached for the piece of paper. As he started to unfold it his breath caught in his throat at the handwriting.

_ My Mischief, _

_ If you’re reading this that means you’re twenty-one now and my little boy is an adult. It also means that you’ve found out the truth about the world we live in. I hope someone you trust explained it to you all, that they were there to answer all of your many questions and keep you safe. Talia and Hanna have both promised to wait until you’re twenty one, until you’re mature enough to understand it all. _

_ If you want no part of this magic, if you’ve never used it, then you can push it away but if you’ve lit the spark then I’m sorry, Mischief but you can’t ignore it.  _

_ You’re stronger than you could possibly imagine. Most people in our families became emissaries for strong packs and if that’s the path you choose Talia will help you. She always wanted our family to be pack. You can trust them.  _

_ I never told your father any of this. Keeping you both away from it kept you both safe. He wasn’t ready to know this world but I hope when you need him he’ll be there. I hope he can forgive me for keeping this secret. I hope you both can. _

_ I know Hanna would have told you how I really got sick and I need you to know that I would go through this all again a hundred times to keep you safe. It’s not your fault. This world is cruel and twisted but if anyone can outsmart it and see through the cruelty to find the beauty, it’s you.  _

_ Read the journals, learn your history. I wish I was there to teach you, I wish you could have a normal life but you can’t. Hanna and Talia will do just as well in my place. _

_ I love you, Mischief and I know you’ve made me proud.  _

_ Trust your heart and don’t be afraid. I have to believe that you live in a safer world than I did.  _

_ Love, Mom _

Stiles took a shuddering breath, scrubbing the tears from his face as he re-read the letter, he could almost hear her voice echoing in his mind. 

She had been so certain that he could rely on Hanna and Talia. Hanna who was slipping away just as she had and Talia who died a year after this letter was written. 

How would his mom react to the things they’d done? What would she say?

He set the letter next to the one from Aunt Hanna with trembling hands and turned back to the book. It looked older than any book Stiles had ever held before but aside from the odd stain here or there, it was held together surprisingly well.

Stiles turned the pages carefully, not wanting to be the person that tore a several hundred year old family heirloom. It was hard to read some of the cursive writing but every couple of pages was dedicated to a different species, descriptions, weaknesses and strengths, some even had carefully drawn illustrations. Different types of shifters, Banshee’s, different types of magic users and bits of history about each species. Stiles was itching for their own pack Bestiary and compare the two.

The second book he pulled out was listings of plants, uses for them, where they grow, what they look like, what counteracts them.

The third book was even larger and filled with intricate looking runes. It looked like there were different types. Some had little notes next to the name like  _ most effective when drawn in the user's blood  _ or  _ most effective carved into skin  _ but others needed to be carved by particular types of knives. These were categorized by what they were used for: protection, defence, containment, attack. It would take even Stiles days to memorise all of this but if he could learn to use them… then it could do so much.

Out of curiosity he closed the chest and looked across at the runes carved into the wood. He flicked through the first few categories of the book and found one that matched listed under protection.

_ Used to protect items from anyone not of a bloodline. - Sealed in blood. _

Did that mean that if someone without Gajos blood in their veins tried to open the chest they would fail?

One of the other runes that he could find in easily in the book was categorized under concealment. Under a careful drawing of the rune it read:

_ To glamour an item from those who don’t know to look. _

It was painfully vague and Stiles wondered if it was a requirement of magic users to be cryptic.

What did it mean by “those who don’t know to look”? People who didn’t know to look for the supernatural?

Deciding to look up the rest of the runes and make proper notes on them later, he set the rune book aside and reached for the next and there was no mistaking what this was. 

Old and battered, with extra pages tucked inside and one word carefully inked into the cover. 

_ Grimoire _

It wasn’t subtle but Stiles wondered if the runes on the cover made it so it didn’t have to be subtle. If the runes protected the book from those who weren’t supposed to read it.

Just holding the book made something inside of Stiles feel warm. His fingers tingled as they turned the pages and somehow he just knew that it was the residue power from all the people who’d previously written in these pages. 

It was instructions for spells. Some were listed as charms, small things like levitation and making a literal spark. Others further back in the book had more to them. They required different ingredients and herbs. Stiles’ breath caught as he read about ones that required sacrifices but it wasn’t always a sacrifice by death. Sometimes it was a drop of blood another time it was the sacrifice of a memory or even an emotion, though all the sacrificial magic had grave warnings scribbled in the margins and Stiles' own experiences with people who practised sacrificial magic made him want to go nowhere near it.  


He closed the book carefully, letting it rest heavily on his knees. He didn't know what to do now.

He wanted to take it all back to his apartment and spend days pouring over it all. Lydia was still going to be in town for a few days and he didn't think that there was anyone better to help him understand all of this. Besides, it had been a while since they'd gotten to dive into a project together and she knew a thing or two about secret family legacies.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, hitting the speed dial for her, setting it aside on loudspeaker as he started piling everything carefully back into the crate.

_ "Hey you,"  _ she answered, a fond tone in her voice.  


"Lydia, hey! Are you busy?" he asked and she hummed on the other end of the line as she considered.

_ "No, I just finished up an assignment," _ she said, _"what are you thinking?"_

"That you're correcting the source material again?" hs joked.

_ "Naturally."  _

"How'd you feel about a new project?"   


He could picture the way she was tilting her head to the side as a smile slowly spread across her face. _"Your place or mine?"_

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated


End file.
